


Sexophone

by Duckyqueen



Category: MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Corsetry, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyqueen/pseuds/Duckyqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is absurd. You haven't been stricken with unfortunate, public erections since middle school. This is horribly embarrassing and you can't even take your eyes off of Droog. You can't seem to move. <br/>	You down your drink faster than you should. Hopefully their set will be over soon and you can leave."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sexophone

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, what a witty title. I should be in the market for witty titles.

You're name is Pickle Inspector and this was supposed to be simple reconnaissance. But there is no such thing as simplicity anymore, you think.

Because you've just walked into one of the Midnight Crew's clubs. 

And you are so totally fucked if anyone but Droog is there tonight from the Crew. Because Droog would just sneakily sneak you out. And maybe you would get a handjob or you would give him a blow job. But if it's anyone else, your body will be thrown through Nervous Broad's window bright and early tomorrow morning. 

You order a drink, nothing to fancy. Actually, it's the cheapest thing on the menu and the bartender sort of glares at you because you can't afford to tip him. You take your drink and try not to slosh it as you find yourself an empty table.

Of course, you take the seat front and center to the stage. 

A band is set up to play, drums, piano, a stand up base and a saxophone. 

You sip your drink and get distracted for a moment and then you look up and the band is getting ready to play. Only it's not a band. It's the Midnight Crew. The entire fucking Midnight Crew, in one place.

About to play jazz music. 

To your surprise, Droog picks up the saxophone. You figure him as more of a piano player (though maybe he plays more than one instrument, a little voice tells you). Deuce counts off from behind the drum kit and the band starts to play.

They're good. Really good.

Especially Droog. 

You find yourself transfixed by him. His body language as he plays. The way his eyes flutter closed, the way he gets lost in the music. Sometimes, he pulls away for a breath and before returning to his saxophone, he licks his lips. 

You're transfixed by his tongue. How it moistens his thin lips and how pink it is. 

And the music. The saxophone. 

You're hard before you even realized you're becoming aroused. But as your squirm in your seat, unconsciously, you breath in sharply as the zip of your pants causes a rush of pleasure to arc through you.

This is absurd. You haven't been stricken with unfortunate, public erections since middle school. This is horribly embarrassing and you can't even take your eyes off of Droog. You can't seem to move. 

You down your drink faster than you should. Hopefully their set will be over soon and you can leave.

 

**Be Droog**

You're playing your set, letting yourself get lost in your playing, when you feel a set of eyes on you.

You brush it off as the audience, but the feeling of being watched does not leave you, so you let your eyes open and fix your gaze on the audience.

And then you see him.

He's front and center and watching you with such an unnerving gaze, you would think he was trying to make your head explode. 

You smirk slightly around your reed. It could just be the light playing tricks on you, but Pickle Inspector looks flushed. You wonder if he knew this was a Crew run club and that he came here to see you play.

But of course he couldn't have known. But it was a fun scenario to imagine. 

When your set ends, you should probably escort him out, hail him a cab. Yes. You'll do that.

The set ends and you pack up your sax and leave it backstage. 

You walk onto the floor, where patrons have fallen back into talking with each other, and amble towards his table. You put a hand on his shoulder and he looks up at you. His pale blue eyes are hazy and yes, his cheeks are indeed flushed. His long fingers are clenched on the tablecloth. 

“Are you quite all right, Inspector?” You lean down so your mouth is near his ear and you feel him tremble. 

“Y-yes,” He manages to breathe out. “Y-you played qu-quite wonderfully.” You smirk.

All right, let's leave it at that. Hail him a cab-

Only you don't. 

You walk him to your private table in the back of the club and let him slide onto the plush, cushioned bench first. 

The architects did quite the brilliant thing here. They designed it so that you can see the patrons, but they can't see you. Oh, they know there's a table in the back, they just can't see  _ who _ is watching them. What that person sitting there is doing.

Pickled Inspector doesn't know that. 

“Why did you come here?” You whisper right against his ear as you grind the heel of your palm against the tent in his slacks. He breaks easier than glass.

“Re-rec-reconnaissance,” he shudders. You kiss the spot right where his ear and jaw meet and he brings his hand up to his mouth, biting a knuckle to silence his whine. 

“Will any cops be stopping by tonight?” You unzip and unbutton his pants and stop there. Will he need to be punished or will he be getting an award?

“N-n-n-no!” He manages to push out.

“And you're not just saying that so I'll continue? You're not tricking me?” You know he wouldn't lie, but oh, he's  _ so _ fun to play with. Pickled Inspector bites his lip, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes clamped shut. He shakes his head. 

You smile and let your hand wander inside his briefs. 

“W-wait!” he suddenly says. And you comply. “What if someone... What if someone  _ sees _ .” You smirk. You don't bother to tell him no one can.

“Who cares?” You punctuate this with a kiss you his neck. You loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt. “Who cares if anyone sees?” You kiss the newly exposed skin. He whines quietly. “And I get the feeling, Inspector, that you wouldn't mind if anyone saw.” You bite down and at the same time, firmly grasp his cock. His knuckle his back in his mouth and his hips stutter up against your hand. You let out a low chuckle. 

You continue to work your hand, knowing just where to rub to make him fall apart at the seams. 

It's a wonder he's held off from coming for so long, if he's been turned on since the Crew played. But you keep at it with your hand, keep attacking his neck. He finally nuts all over the underside of the table, your name slipping out of his lips quietly. You smirk and tuck him back inside his pants and wipe your hand. 

You slide out of the booth first this time, offer your hand to help him and walk out into the night with him. You ask the valet to call your car around and soon you're folding Pickle Inspector into the back seat and sliding in close next to him.

He never asks any questions and lets you continue to mouth at his neck and jaw bone. Your chauffeur says nothing and he drops you at your apartment. 

 

You manage to get the two of you into your bedroom without much noise. Aradia has school tomorrow and you hope she didn't go to bed too late. 

You can't be preoccupied by thoughts of your daughter for too long, because Pickle Inspector is sprawled on your bed, already toeing off his shoes. You straddle him and pull his face to yours and kiss him hungrily. He whines when you bite his lip and doesn't fight you when you pull his shirt so that most of the buttons come flying off. It was an old and ugly shirt anyway. You pull his tie off (another ugly, old thing), then get him out of his shirt and pants and socks.

He on your bed, flushed and still in his briefs. A nice picture, but it could be better. You pull down his briefs and give the head of his cock one, long suck and Pickle Inspector whines and bucks. You pull away. “Don't touch yourself,” you say, before standing back up and walking to your wardrobe.

The box is on the top shelf. It's from one of the nicest department stores in the city. You had been planning to give the box and it's contents to him for his birthday, but that's still a month away and you can't wait any longer. 

You turn back to the bed. Pickle Inspector is panting, trembling, completely flushed, but he hasn't touched himself. You hold the box out to him. 

“This is for you,” He takes it with a shaking hand and opens it, paws through the layers of tissue paper. Pulls out a light blue corset. The a pair of matching, silk panties. Then, your personal favorite, the silk stockings. He looks up at you with wide eyes. “Well, put it on.”

He stands up on shaking legs, takes off his briefs and pulls on the panties over his throbbing dick and whines. He comes, and you rush forward to catch him as he sways. His cum splatters your slacks, which, with anyone else, would make you incoherent with rage. But instead, it makes you throb harder. He blushes after he calms down.

“I'm sorry, I didn't-” You kiss him again and he shuts up. He sits on the bed to pull the stockings up, letting them grip his creamy thighs. You already have the corset unlaced and in hand by the time he is done with the stockings. He turns his back to you without having to be asked and you put it on him. He braces himself on the bed post and you begin to tighten the laces. You know how tight he likes it. By the time you are done, he's already hard again. A little surprising. After coming two times, you would think he would be ready to pass out. He sits on the bed, back ramrod straight and before you undress, you go to your bathroom and bring him a glass of water, which he gulps down, gratefully, while you undress. 

Every item of clothing gets put in the hamper, though the slacks will have to be dry-cleaned. You turn back and Pickle Inspector is more flushed than you though could be possible. You can see by the way his hands clench the duvet that he's trying  _ so  _ hard to not touch himself. 

It only takes you a few long strides to get to the bed. You push him on his back, run your fingers over the lace at the top of the corset. The garment stops just below his nipples and his breath hitches as you roll them between your fingers. 

The light blue of the garments highlight the flush covering his body so beautifully and you growl. You pull him into a sitting position, so that his mouth is level with your cock and he opens his mouth.

“You're such a good slut,” you growl before you can stop yourself. “You think you're well to do, with your fancy clothes?” You fist your hands in his pale hair and he moans around your dick. “You're nothing but a slut.” He whines and you feel your cock hit the back of his throat. You're too horny to try and hold back and you fuck his mouth earnestly. Pickle Inspector's hands grab your ass, his nails digging into the flesh and you hiss as you finally come. He splutters and chokes slightly, he manages to swallow your come though, some trickling out the corners of his mouth. 

You lean over him and suck a hicky on his neck. Then another on his collar bone. Lower and lower, until you're face to cock. You pull the panties down with your teeth, lick his cock, before sitting up and leaning over him to reach the bedside table. 

You pull out the nearly empty box of condoms and the lube and when you settle back over him, he already has his legs in the air.  _ Good slut _

You squirt a generous amount of lube on your fingers and tease his hole, making his tremble. You slide a finger in, teasing him. You fold in a second finger, teasing his prostate with the tip of your index finger, relishing in the way he clenches around you.

Three fingers now and you spread them, loving how he whines, how his back arches. 

You roll the condom on as quickly as you can manage without tearing it. You spread lube over your dick and then push into him. 

You stay still as stone for a minute, catching your breath, calming yourself and Pickle Inspector down. His chest heaves, his breathing dramatically affected by the corset and the fact that you're cock deep in him. 

And then you begin to thrust. Pickle Inspector whines and twists and you grip the back of his thighs, running your thumb over the top of the stockings, taking in the sensory differences between silk and lace and heated flesh. You push at his thighs until his knees are practically touching the mattress next to his ears. You pound into him from this new angle. He can't stifle his cries now. You growl, bite your lip until you taste and feel a thin trickle of blood dribbling down your chin. 

You feel yourself begin to crest and you slow down, holding onto the perfect, vibrating feeling arcing through your body. You don't want to come just yet. You roll your hips slowly. You take in his face, the blush that stains his pretty cheeks and how his pale eyes are so clouded with lust.

On a whim, you lean down and kiss him, tenderly. As you pull back, he sighs against your lips, as close to an “I love you” as either of you will ever get. 

You lean back a little, let his legs move from the painful and over-extended position they had been in. You settle his legs around your waist and begin fucking him again, slow and sweet and so fucking excellent. His hands spider up your forearms until they wrap around your elbows and you wrap your hand around his cock.

Pickle Inspector whines and arches and you tease the head, rubbing your thumb in the pre-come pearled at the head. Another thrust of your hips and he comes with a loud whine and groan, arching his back as much as the corset will allow. 

He's so tight around you and a choked “Inspector-!” falls from your lips before your hips are stuttering against him. 

Your arms are shaking to keep you up and you realize belatedly that the corset will need to be dry-cleaned as well. You remove the spent condom carefully, so as not to get spunk all over the bed, and knot the top. You get up on weak legs and go to the bathroom, tossing the condom in the bin. You wet a washcloth and clean yourself off, wet the cloth again and return to Pickle Inspector. You clean him up and get him out of the corset. He's as floppy and compliant as a doll, he's on the edges of sleep. You roll the stockings off his legs and find the panties. You fold the corset, panties and stockings onto your growing pile of clothes for the dry-cleaner. 

You rub your eyes. You maneuver the Pickle Inspector under the duvet and slide in next to him. Immediately, he curls his long, lanky body around you and falls asleep. Anyone else, and you would be spitting and hissing.

But with Pickle Inspector, you wouldn't have it any other way.

 

Tomorrow morning, you will stumble out of bed at 7:30 and pull on pajama pants and drag yourself into the kitchen to make Aradia breakfast. Pickle Inspector will still be asleep, and you will let him sleep until noon, where he will wake up sore and a little confused. 

Aradia will glare at you while you scramble her eggs, the bags under her eyes saying more about her night than she will say. You will be mortified, but you wont say anything either. 

At eight, you'll see her to the door, will forgo any potential awkwardness by patting her on the head and saying you'll be home for dinner. She will nod and leave for school.

And you will crawl back into bed with Pickle Inspector and sleep for another two hours.


End file.
